Fortunately for you folks who are depressed because you feel you don’t have the will power and dedication to have a restaurant staff learn your usual, I think there’s a very simple cheat you can employ.

Pick a restaurant. Any restaurant. Ok, no, not Applebees, for the love of God, you masochistic freak. Any other restaurant. Go in, sit down and wait for your server. Then say, “I’d like the usual please.” Your server – let’s call him Jacques – will look confused. He’ll say, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what your usual is.” Then you tell him.

Go back within 2-3 days. Order your usual again. If it’s Jacques, there’s a 50% chance he remembers it. If not, he’ll definitely get it next time. If it’s someone new, when you get that raised eyebrow look, say, “Oh, sorry, I thought Jacques would have told you.” Then order. This server – let’s call her Penelope – not only has the same first step as Jacques, but when she next sees him, she’ll be like, “Jacques, yo, like, some dude tried to order his ‘usual’ and said you were supposed to tell me.” They’ll laugh and mock you, but they’ll remember your usual. And chances are, they’ll tell the other servers – Gary, Ramon, Cynthia, Xing Lu, et al – the story and to be on the lookout.

And there you have it. Your 2-4 step process to having an established “usual.” You’re welcome.

There are obviously the people that will pick it up regardless of value. Sacajawea dollars, buffalo nickels and tarnished pennies are all identified with the same level of enthusiasm. Ironically, I assume most of these people to be old women, most of whom should avoid bending down when not necessary.

Then there are people like me who are first stricken with a sense of laziness and the feeling that it’s not worth the effort of stopping walking and bending over to retrieve some small fraction of a dollar. Then the second guessing comes. “C’mon, it’s free money. Put it in a jar. It’ll add up eventually.” At this point, if it’s a quarter, I pick it up, even if I have to backtrack the few steps I’ve taken since I first noticed it. Less than a quarter, I continue to ponder. Dimes and nickels are mostly insignificant, but often I’ll grab them just to put my mind at ease. Pennies I clearly don’t need, but sometimes the whole “lucky penny” superstition hits me. And even though I’m not superstitious, I have irrational thoughts of getting angry at myself if something unfortunate were to happen later that day and I had to think back to when I didn’t pick up the penny. So yes, I pick up pennies. And I put them in a jar. And they add up. About 100 of them equals a dollar.

On the inside of the outer exit door (the broken one), was one of those metal pull-down gate things. On it was a bumper sticker-sized sign that read “Not a means of egress.” I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this is one of the least useful signs ever.

For one, what’s with that wording? Yes, egress means exit – nothing wrong with it semantically. But consider the average person. What percent of people really know what egress means? Maybe 15? I think 5 might be closer to reality. So congratulations, sign writer guy, on finding a more sophisticated way of saying “not an exit”. There’s a reason your job is writing text for stickers and not teaching doctoral level English courses.

And secondly, exactly what part of not “egressing” wasn’t clear by the fact that there was a GIANT METAL GATE blocking everyone from doing so? Would anyone have walked up to it, looked unsuccessfully for instructions, and then attempted to raise, slide or pass through the gate when there was a fully operational door 8 feet to the left? No. The answer is no.

So, sticker writer guy and sticker placer guy, I hope you both read this and take it to heart. I don’t want to encounter your preposterous signage anymore.

I think my favorite such nuance is my inability to write fried without first writing friend. Just moments ago I referred to eating friend onions. I don’t have any friends that are onions, but I like to think that if I did, I wouldn’t eat them. I have also written French friends on various occasions. Someone with half a brain could figure out what I meant, but for the majority of the population, there might have been some confusion.

To clear things up, French friends do not come with a Whopper meal at Burger King, I do not dip them in ketchup and I don’t like the burnt ones any better than the rest. That being said, if Burger King is looking to improve relations between the U.S. and France, perhaps throwing in a couple friends wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

While such a tolerance would be fun to brag about, he must have had some seriously outrageous bar tabs in his day. He probably downed a beer in like 5 seconds, which would get annoying for the bartender who either had to ignore his other customers or deal with an angry and possibly drunken giant. And what about closing time (cue Semisonic background music)? When Andre was 39 beers in and wanted more, I bet the clock wasn’t convincing him to go home.

I bet there was at least one divorce caused by Andre’s drinking and the bartender not getting home till 8 in the morning. “No, honey, really… there was a giant in the bar who kept drinking and wouldn’t leave!” The wife, cranky because she hadn’t slept well while wondering with whom her husband was cheating, would laugh at him, then kick him out. Then he would have to sell his bar and find another way to sustain himself. He should have become a professional wrestler and fought Andre the Giant… would have made for a great storyline.

Facebook and Twitter? Ok, I get that, sorta. I don’t like it though. I don’t want to see your stupid “OMG Great Episode!! #24 #JackBauer #Jack #Bauer #Kiefer #Ihopeyouaccidentallyfindthisinasearchthenmaketheconsciousdecisiontofollowmebecausemytweetsaresoclever status messages. But whatever, I’ll deal.

But why does my Netflix need to be with my Facebook? Does anyone care what movie I’m watching? If I thought there was one of particular interest, I’d take the 17 seconds out of my life to manually type a status about it.

What’s next? Maybe my health insurance website can hook up with my Twitter and automatically Tweet things like “I might be passing a kidney stone this week! #kidneystones #excrutiatingpain #TMI”. Or perhaps we can find a way to integrate my microwave with Facebook. “… is currently popping Super Extra Buttery Movie Theater Style Popcorn for 2:25 on High!”

Here’s one I’d be cool with: we find a way where I can set up my camera near my bed, then it takes a picture of me sleeping, posts it somewhere, then the more Diggs it gets, the better dreams I have. Go ahead, programmers, figure that one out and you’ll be back in my good graces.

I was always the kid who my parents needed to do complicated things like fix the printer, set up bluetooth on their phones or fix the clock on the VCR (you know, when people still had VCRs) after we lost power. I was also the one who knew where every wire had to go so that we could run the cable box into the DVR, into the box/switch thing that also had various video game consoles attached to it, into the TV, then out into the surround sound speakers, which were positioned perfectly to optimize the audio and video experience.

Yesterday I couldn’t figure out my digital camera – and it’s from like 2005. It was snowing like crazy, and I wanted to take pictures, but the camera kept focusing on and illuminating the snowflakes inches in front it rather than the snow-covered streets and tree limbs in the distance. I know the camera has settings for different types of environments, but I couldn’t find them. And it was cold and snowy, so I didn’t have much patience. I wound up with like 8 pictures of dark, blurry streets behind 43 mini white glowing orbs.

Similar things have happened to me before, and it makes me quite uncomfortable. I am supposed to know how all electronics work and when and how to access those stupid one-use features when that one-use opportunity arises. You know how Eskimos used to sometimes sail their elderly off on a chunk of ice when when they were no longer able to contribute to society? I feel one step closer to being a useless elderly Eskimo now. And based on this weather, I’m sure there’s some free-floating ice not too far away.

I feel like an asshole. – ok
I kinda feel like an asshole. – ok
I literally feel like an asshole. – not ok. And if you do literally feel like an asshole, please do not talk to me.

So you call to straighten this all out, and you get a nice southern lady on the phone who seems eager to assist you. Unfortunately, she has to follow procedure and it has to be verified with the merchant and blah blah blah. So she’s not saying you’re screwed, but she also can’t help. And then as you try to discuss the inconvenience this is causing you, as well as your worries about your credit score, she keeps saying one thing: “Well, sir, I do apologize.”

You do? You do apologize? This is not the appropriate statement. I wasn’t doubting that you apologize. You should just say, “Well, sir, I apologize.” Take the blame for something that is not your personal fault and move on. But no… over and over it’s “I do apologize,” as if A) I need to be convinced, and B) your apology does a damn thing to help me.

Why is this particular statement only used in customer service? I don’t like it. “I do apologize” has been canceled. Pass it on.

Recently, I was sitting in traffic – really terrible traffic – and I was behind someone driving a Toyota Avalon. I looked at the word Avalon across the back and realized that it spelled no lava backwards. Then I started thinking that it was unfortunate that there was no lava nearby, because it would have been nice for me to push everyone else’s vehicles into it so that I could get home.

I’m a terrible person.